


No Dress Code: Unstoppable Momentum

by GuileandGall



Series: No Dress Code [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, F/M, Flirting, One Night Stands, Rock Star, Shirtless, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: A typical night takes an inexplicable twist, not only for a club owner but also for showboating bass player.





	No Dress Code: Unstoppable Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic that started the whole thing. Close and I really like the idea of Furia and Eli getting a happily ever after, even if this is an AU. In order to get my head around it, I got to thinking, how Eli and Furia might meet in this other world. I figured it might just be similar to how they “met” in RP.

Five nights a week in Stilwater, the Iron Bone Tavern featured the best music in the city, usually local and regional bands of some renown and popularity. Though Thursday, Friday, and Saturday the club was so packed you could not slip a piece of paper between people; Tuesdays and Wednesdays it was more manageable, though still packed by the standards of most clubs in town. On the flip side, it was also the club where everyone with dreams of seeing their names in lights wanted to play. It made for a win-win situation for the owner, and the bands that played there. Since it was the place to be; it was also the place to look for new talent.

That Tuesday night, a new band was slated to grace the stage of the Iron Bone. An eclectic group that called themselves Pirate Hole. While the manager of the club really could not give them any prizes for the name, everything she had heard from her staff at the Bone and at another club on the Westside of Stilwater had been positive, bordering on rave, reviews. Pirate Hole had played in the Guerrero family’s establishments a half a dozen times, yet, Soledad never managed to catch them on stage. Before and after, once or twice, but never while performing. Of course, she had listened to their demos, but that never really matched the feel of a live performance.

As such, she raced through traffic, veering into the oncoming lane more than once. Her frenzy to get there before their set ended also explained the reason why she flattened the two driver’s side tires of a deep purple Reaper that parked in her spot near the back door. After finding a parking spot, she skipped the line out front and hopped the rope at the front of the club to a few vehement catcalls, which she ignored.

The band started twenty minutes before she arrived, which meant their set was better than half over. Though she arrived in time to witness the bass player strip off one of those pirate-like gauzy poet shirts. Someone screamed long and loud enough that Soledad wondered if they might have passed out. She watched, as rapt as other audience members while he showed off the masterful and elaborate tattoo on his back. It was a huge rope-rimmed medallion with a scene of a massive ship. The crowd seemed to find it as intriguing as she did. When he went back to playing, she slipped behind the bar, made her own drink, and ducked back out on the other side.

Her position afforded privileges, like free reign to hop behind the bar, not that anyone really noticed her. All eyes were on the stage, at least the ones that weren’t scanning the patrons or the bar. She also got the chance to watch the show unobstructed from the upper level, which was closed off on lower-capacity weeknights. Upstairs, she got the best view in the house without a stitch of interruption or people jostling her about. Though she might not have been expecting it, she enjoyed the show, and had to admit Pirate Hole actually had the chops. As the set went on she knew they had that incalculable something else, too.

Her green-rimmed hazel eyes were not the only ones locked on the stage. The band’s popularity had exploded in recent months. Their music reached out and grabbed people by the throat. The lead singer had the ability to draw the audience in. Of course, there were other factors adding to their popularity, including the flair of the shirtless musician perched atop a black and purple double bass. He was beautiful, there was no other word for it. And not in that pretty boy sense, but more in the chiseled marble work of art kind of way. Taken piece for piece he might have been better than average, but packed into one long, lean package, he put Michelangelo’s David to shame.

Bright aqua eyes peeked from beneath the purple-black wavy fringe that brushed low over his brow. Fans and writers all described those eyes as heartbreaking, emotionally charged, and with the cliché ‘you can get lost in them.’ The tone of the wiry muscle wrapping his body was taut and rippled beneath his skin, which glistened with a sheen of sweat under the stage lights. The ink etched into his skin seemed to just heighten the definition of his body, and more than once, Soledad’s eyes were locked onto his fingers, the ones with the bones tattooed over them, as they deftly moved along the strings. He seemed to be enjoying himself as much on the stage as everyone below in the crowd.

“He’s got to be the sexiest coloring book I’ve ever seen.” It was one of the many salacious compliments Soledad heard him paid that evening as she skirted the edge of the crowd on the way to her perch. She certainly could not disagree, well, not completely, she just thought there might be better methods of showing appreciation of his artwork than grabbing a pack of markers. She could feel the grin curl on her lips as a few choice ideas wound through her head.

The audience teamed like an organism, pulsing along with the music. Their reaction clearly embodied the thought passing through her mind—Pirate Hole would grace this stage again, potentially as a headliner. The large crowd below closed in on one of the largest for a weeknight and the plethora of white skulls and bones on t-shirts in the crowd, glowing against black fabric, announced that a large segment of these people shelled out the cover charge to see the opening act.  Sol felt certain, given the combination of facts, that this band might just be able to carry the door.

When their set finished, the crowd screamed and yelled for more. Her stage manager gave Pirate Hole another song, which the patrons loved, though Sol knew Alien Funbox would not appreciate the consideration, nor the reaction. Despite the entreaties following the encore, the intermission of sorts began, and the opening act removed their gear.

She finished off her drink a few songs into Alien Funbox’s set. The energy in the room changed, markedly, though thankfully it did not drop dramatically enough to be worrisome. It just clarified her decision. She knew the main act well; they played her clubs somewhat regularly. She’d seen them more than once, given that, she held no qualms about not sticking around for their set.

So, she crossed the empty upper floor intent on finding the manager of Pirate Hole to find out what their schedule looked like. The fob on her wrist opened a door that led to a thin, almost claustrophobic hall, or it would have been if it was longer than a few feet. There were two choices another long dark hall or stairs leading down to the backstage area. She skipped down the stairs, her eyes glued on her phone as she pulled up the schedule for the Iron Bone. When she hit the landing, her progress halted as she came eye to Adam’s apple with a shirtless man, Pirate Hole’s shirtless tattooed bass player to be exact.

Soledad took a step back, only for the sake of decorum, as she slipped the device into a pocket on her hip. Neither of them said a word as their eyes moved gradually to a point where their gazes would meet.

“And what are you doing back here?” Though his words sounded like an outright accusation, his voice carried a headier tone, one which urged her pulse to quicken.

The combination of his intense stare and the lightness that resided just below her ribcage, left her silent for a moment longer than she might have been normally.

“Thought it was bands and staff only?” he added.

His accent, clearly British, rattled around in her ears for a moment before she regained herself. Her hands splayed on her hips as she gave him a grin as cocksure as the one cast at her. “How do you know I’m not?”

He took a step onto the landing, and she mirrored it unconsciously, keeping the same space between them. His eyes traveled over her again, his grin telegraphing his thoughts, or so it seemed to her. 

“Because I didn’t see you during sound check tonight or the last two we played here,” he mused. His hands gripped the railing on either side of him and he kind of swung his body in the most tantalizing way, like a cobra trying to distract its prey before it strikes. Up close, with the way he moved, she became even more convinced about the effect of the tattoos and their accentuation of his arms and the shift of muscle beneath his skin. His chest also flexed with the motion which seemed to make him hover in front of her, like temptation on legs.

Then he leaned forward, a megawatt dangerous grin on his face. “Maybe you snuck back here to meet the bands,” he whispered before admitting, “I would have.”

This was not her style, not even a little. She did not fraternize with the acts or with the staff. Despite her usually solid personal lines, Soledad inched forward, her nose nearly brushing his. “Maybe I did.”

“Mmm. Naughty.” His smile widened, showing off his dimples. “Gorgeous woman like you, sneaking around backstage. It is a mix for disaster.” His nose brushed hers, but just barely as he shifted.

“Disaster? How so?” she asked, straightening again.

He stepped forward, close enough that the heat coming off him radiated through her blouse. “Because,” he started, waiting for her to look up at him. Once her hazel eyes blinked up to his, he continued, “either someone’s going to fuck you unsatisfactorily or you’re going to break some poor musician’s heart.”

She took a moment to consider it, and another to get over the cocky corniness of it. “And what?” she countered smugly as her hips brushed the banister with another step backwards. Despite the movement, he was still right there, so close. With a quick glance she realized they had moved from the center of the landing to one side. Her eyes flicked back up to his as she added, “You think can stop the inevitable?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Everything about the moment, shortened her breath—his seductive tone of his voice, the alluring twinkle in his eyes, the rousing way he loomed, even the curve of his lips. When his nose nudged hers, Sol went for it without really thinking first. Her lips met his and the world turned dizzy as it seemed to spin suddenly faster.

His tongue pushed into her mouth with the same kind of confidence he had shown on stage. Her fingers traced over lithe muscle, exploring the same landscape which hypnotized her from the stage. Then his knee pressed between hers. A chirp of surprise blended into a more wanton sound. She pulled him closer, her hands skimming his waist. 

At first his hands smoothed over her hair, when she broke their kiss for a breath, one of them cradled the back of her head, bringing her mouth flush against his to begin anew. Soledad spared no thought for anything beyond that moment on the landing and the bass player grinding savagely against her. The feel of his body against hers left her moaning into his mouth.

He seemed to have taken her libidinous reactions as a cue for his free hand to wander. He cupped her breast, kneading with firm insistence. When her nails dug into his back, he hissed then gave Sol a sexy grin. “Don’t stop,” he suggested, pinching her nipple.

The sensation of the lace of her bra against her hardened nipples made them tingle and ache. With no hint of concern about the potential for discovery, his index finger hooked the fabric of her low top and her bra in order to bare one breast, looking up at her as his mouth inched toward it. His tongue flicked against it and she bit her lip. Another grin preceded his mouth closing over it.

Soledad moaned with no thought as to who might hear, though over the thumping rhythm of Alien Funbox it would be nearly impossible to pick out her vocalizations, let alone identify them. And why would they, with the band below trying to keep the crowd pumped? She buried her hands in his silky hair, hoping it might encourage him to continue, which he did not. When he did release the fabric, which slid back over her exposed flesh, it was only so he could tender the same attention to the other. Sol rocked against him to the needy rhythm of the desire spurred as expertly as Pirate Hole’s bass player had pumped up the crowd with his antics.

But her thoughts during the performance were long gone. No, her only thought at that instant burst to the forefront with a gasp— _Ay Dios, is that his hand_. She did not notice the soft touch, at first. Her mind centered on the way he sucked and nibbled at her breast. Then when she looked down at him she caught that satyric flame in those aqua eyes, Soledad realized the reason for it. The caressing started gently, as soft strokes over silk as one might pet a tiny kitten. The tug at her panties made her eyes widen. A choked sound caught in her throat when his mouth left her nipple just long enough to lick his fingers.

“Dios,” she breathed. His mouth cut off her gasp as his fingers pressed against her clit then moved over her folds. Her tongue teased at his lips, mimicking the way his hand moved, but it was his tongue that thrust into her mouth when he slipped his finger into her. He swallowed the accompanying whimper as her hips fell into a wanton rhythm inspired by his deft fingers. When a second digit joined the first, Sol fisted a hand in his hair and pulled their mouths apart, just enough to gaze in his breathtaking eyes.

It was precisely what she wanted to see—his lust. He seemed to crave her reply. His fingers trailed up to her clit. The absence brought a woeful sound to her throat; it pitched upward with his renewed, single-minded attention to that spot. Then in a quick rough motion his fingers returned. Sol tugged at his hair again and he hissed before sealing their lips again, pulling at her grip. The quicker and harder she moved against his fingers, the rougher he kissed her.

Her nails dug into his back when she peaked. When a low moan reverberated deep in her throat, he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes locked on hers. One hand teased her breast as the other brought her to climax on the stairwell landing, which overlooked the stage.

It took Soledad few breaths for her head to clear. Ever the showman, the bass player straightened just enough to free his hand, then he slipped his fingers into his mouth, without losing her gaze. His libertine countenance paired with an approving hum that reverberated through his chest ignited a flame beneath her skin. She wanted him, but with a glance past his shoulder, she knew the landing was not the place.

Soledad grabbed the hand thumbing over her sensitive nipple and pulled him back up the stairs. While her hand righted her shirt, she ducked down a thin hallway lit with red lights so as not to interfere with the stage lights. There was no way she would drag him past every musician, stage hand, and half the security team in order to get him into a green room that would not even be empty. Which left one place, the general manager’s office.

“And where are you taking me, love?”

When they reached the top of the stairs, she stopped and turned, pressing herself against him, one hand pressing firmly over the front of his jeans. “Does it matter?”

“Not in the least,” he groaned, leaning toward her with the intent to steal a kiss.

“Good.”

They continued down the hall toward the lone door.

“Don’t think I’ve been up here before,” he stated once she stopped. He stood right behind her and pressed a warm kiss to the side of her neck, while she dangled a fob on her wrist in front of a panel next to the door. The tiny red light turned green and her other hand pushed at the heavy handle, opening the door.

She pulled him far enough through the door for it to close behind him, then she pressed him against it. “Probably not,” she agreed.

Her mouth met his roughly, while she moved with haste to undo his belt. The button fly was easy enough and she gave a gruff little chuckle when her hands found nothing but flesh beneath the denim. “Fucking musicians,” she mumbled.

His hands on her face sealed their lips again. “Makes it easier to battle the inevitable,” he teased biting at her bottom lip and sucking on it. Then he kissed her again, distracting her from her task, pleasantly.

On the table near the door sat a crystal bowl, it began its life as a simple, innocent candy dish. Sol’s best friend felt it had so much more, if mostly unused, potential as a safe sex smorgasbord. It saw a fair amount of use. Everyone on the payroll knew that the boss’ office was the place to find a condom or two if you needed them. Once, one of the bartenders went all out and took the entire bowl of them.

When Soledad finally broke the kiss again, she stepped away from him and plucked one of the packets out of the dish.

“I don’t even know your name,” he realized out loud.

There was a reason she did not fraternize with musicians and it reared its ugly head with her simple reply. “Does it matter?”

He seemed taken aback. She did not want to talk about her past and the lessons it taught her. Not then. Her eyes went to the condom in her hand. Then back up at him as her other hand slipped down his belly to stroke his hard cock. Her lips teased his as she asked, “Are we going to fuck or exchange insurance information?”

His answer resounded as clearly as the sound of her back hitting the door when he changed their positions. He kissed her hard as she slipped the condom on him with a haste that matched her desire. While her hands pushed at the waistband of his jeans, he met her step for step as he marched himself out of a them and his heavy boots.

“Anyone going to come rushing in, if I fuck you through this door, pet?”

“If they do, I’ll have them fired.”

“Good,” he replied mimicking the tone in which she had said the same word minutes earlier. Without a hint of ceremony, he yanked her panties down her legs, waiting for her to step out of them before flinging them over his shoulder without a care. As he straightened, he dropped a kiss on the top of one thigh, then nipped at the inside of the other. Reaching his full height, he lifted her off her feet. “That sounds fair enough.”

Soledad clasped her arms around his neck and stared at him for a moment in surprise and anticipation. One arm cradled her knee, the other shifted and her breath quivered as she felt the tip of his cock tracing a gentle trail against her greedy flesh. The teasing proved too much for both of them—he guided it over her clit then along her folds and back again. She buried her hand in his hair and pulled hard, bringing his lips closer to hers in a hard, demanding kiss.

“Now, stop talking and fuck me proper.”

“If you insist.”

She cried out with that first, rough, sharp thrust. He did it again, and again, and again until her responses devolved into an incoherent, needy moaning. Sol held onto his shoulders, nails burrowing into his skin. The way he held her made it nigh impossible to wrap her legs around his waist or to get real leverage, though she tried to use the door as best she could to pop her hips into every snap of his. He did exactly what he promised, ramming his cock into her with a rapacious ferocity that made the muscles in her thighs quiver.

“Come again for me,” he growled against her neck, biting her firmly. The way he sucked at her skin, she knew she would not be able to disguise the mark. Though she couldn’t bitch too much about it, she was certain she’d left one or two marks on him as well.

Taking his demand to mean he was close, Sol slipped her hand between their bodies to rub frenzied circles around her clit with a fingertip. She felt his cock throb inside her as he groaned against her skin. The sharp movements of his hips continued long enough to bring her climax just after him. He did not stop until the rocking of her hips stilled to a slow, liquid roll.

He set her down carefully, onto one foot at a time. Leaning on her as much as she clung to him. Her grip on his shoulders loosened, her fingertips coming away sticky from the blood she unintentionally drew.

When he kissed her again it was softer, but his hunger lingered. Her hand teased at the back of his hair, carding and twirling her fingers through it once more.

“Disaster averted,” Sol chuckled when his forehead pressed against hers again.

“For the time being,” he replied, wearing that damnable sultry grin and looking both sated and pleased as hell with himself. Though she could not blame him one bit, she was quite pleased with him as well.

“You expect this dire situation will come up again?”

“Give me a few minutes, and I’m sure I can manage it.”

Soledad laughed as she slipped from between him and the door. “Do you need a tissue?”

His hand closed around her wrist before she could get more than a few steps. “Won’t you at least tell me your name? I’m Eli.”

She still did not know if she really wanted to know that. This was not her way. Though there had been no moment since she bumped into him on the stairs when it felt wrong at all. Even so, there was something different about it all, beyond him standing in her office naked as the day he was born—all beautiful and flushed. She shook her head then acquiesced, turning to face him fully, meeting that piercing gaze. “Soledad.”

He repeated her name once. Heaven help her, she delighted in the way it sounded coming from his lips. Too much so.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he purred in a dark tone that made her spine tingle. It served to cement one thought in her mind—Eli was trouble … delicious, diverting, and dangerous. She was certain of it. Even so, when she felt the gentle tug on her wrist, rather than shaking her hand free, Soledad yielded, letting him pull her against his warm chest and into another deep, languid kiss.


End file.
